


CHEERY'S FIRST DATE

by Zoya1416



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Humor, Romance, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 22:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grag Bashfullson asks Cheery for a date</p>
            </blockquote>





	CHEERY'S FIRST DATE

**Author's Note:**

> Everything belongs to Terry Pratchett. I am only borrowing it.

Sally and Angua were stunned to hear that Cheery had been asked out by Grag Bashful Bashfullson, a known male dwarf. But they heaped on advice, as best friends will.  
Do you really think I should get a new dress?” asked Cheery anxiously  
Sally said, “Absolutely. For a first date you should feel great, and nothing makes you  
feel better than nice clothes, right, Angua?”  
“I dunno, I always wore something I could get out of quickly.”  
The other two looked carefully at each other, and Angua continued, “So if the date went bad, you know? So I could run away.”  
She flushed as the girls continued to look perplexed. “Werewolf, you know. Not naked.”

Starting out from Pseudopolis Yard, the first store they encountered was Burleigh and Stronginthearm weapons shop.  
“Oooh, look, it's the new SmallAx, the one for not-men on the go.” said Cherry. She paused by the window.  
Sally peeped in. “Hmm, got silverwork all over it—give this a miss.”  
“I'm not going to throw my ax at you!”  
“Just on principle, then, in case I ever annoy you.”

Cheery and Angua rolled their eyes. Vampires were the very definition of annoying.  
As they pushed her on, Cheery looked back at the window longingly.

Finally arriving at the Maul, they went into Shatta's, the premier dress shop for dwarfs. (means wonderful surprise in Dwarvish).  
“Micromail, Cheery! It doesn't chafe.”  
Cheery looked at the price tag and shuddered. The dresses on offer were good sturdy dwarf leather, but exorbitant and scandalous. One even had a slit on the side almost all the way to the top of the boot. Sally and Angua roamed the store.  
Angua said, "Look, here are some new Rockhammer slingbacks—copper heels three inches high!”  
“But I already have one pair of slingbacks. Why would I want another?”  
Silence.  
As they perused the hats, Sally said, “Cheery, don't you have a hat? That you were going to wear to the Low King's coronation? Something with a feather in it.”  
“Um, it was a small helmet with a green feather, really shiny. But I still have the helmet my grandmother gave me, and that's good enough.”  
“How about a consignment store?”  
When the concept was explained to her, she said, “Ick! That would be as bad as using another dwarf's tools.”  
Sally and Angua exchanged glances, realizing their failure. 

The three walked along Turnwise Broadway silently.  
“There is one thing...” began Sally, “that always makes me feel better. A hair salon.”  
“Why would you find a dress at a hair salon?” asked the little dwarf.  
“Oh, come on. I saw the place the other day, behind the post office. They have a dwarf hairdresser.”

At HUGO'S, off Widdershins Broadway, they were greeted by a young dwarf, aggressively not-male, who swayed towards them on four inch Slingbacks. She wore large golden ax earrings, and thick mascara.  
“Help you?” Her beard was dyed, alarmingly, in magenta and black, and cut on a bias. “Wanna see some new styles? Get this gorse-bush of yours plucked, ma-am, and we can do some blond highlights at no extra charge.”  
They all backed carefully out the door.

Sally and Angua tried to improve Cheery's mood by taking her to Gimlet's, and getting a good rat-on-a-stick snack, but it didn't help. Frustration hung in the air.  
“There is one place...” Cheery began, “in the street of the Alchemists. A barber-surgeon. He used to let us run in there when the Guild was about to blow up. A really great guy. He still cuts hair, in between the amputations.”  
Sally and Angua glanced at each other, pained at the thought of amputations interrupted by flying debris, but if this was the place Cheery wanted, they'd go there.  
The store had the basic red and white striped barber pole, and was very plain. But the man walking towards than was rounded and smiling.  
“Miss Littlebottom! I haven't seen you in ages! Thought maybe the Guild had exploded too many times.”  
“No, I'm in the watch now. No explosions. Well, not as many.”  
He greeted Angua and Sally.  
“I'm Whisperwillow. Whisperwillow Barleycorn. Cheery, girl, what do you want today?”  
She started to cry. “I wanted to get a dress, 'n' Shatta's was so expensive, then Hugo's was too weird, and nothing works...”  
Quietly he said, “Don't worry. I'll take care of you.”  
Since the first stage of the operation involved W.A.S.H.I.N.G. Cheery's hair and beard, Angua kept guard outside, coming back for phase two.

Barleycorn gently snipped Cheery's beard, shortening it some, and scissored underneath so that it lay flatter. He trimmed the part below the ears, exposing them. The result was a beard a little shorter than Grag Bashfullson's, shaped and smooth. Cheery was silent with awe. After consultation, he then rubbed a foamy cream into her hair. The mousse (“Not mouse”) left the hair smoother and falling into its natural curls under her helmet. Finally, he looked at her nails.  
“Still with chemical stains, I see. And short.”  
Cheery blushed. “I do forensic work for the Watch. I can't use nail polish, it would probably catch on fire.”  
He laughed. “I doubt that. Let's see here.”  
Barleycorn shaped the little nails, softened and pushed back the cuticles, and buffed them to gleaming. Cheery held them up, marveling.

The trio left the barber shop, with Cheery smiling and looking at her nails, until she stepped in a puddle. Taking a shortcut back to Holofernes Street, they saw a new shop. “D'-Ore. Glamour on a Budget for the New Dwarfs.”  
In the window was a fabulous dress. Even Sally and Angua admired it. It was of soft dark red leather, falling to ¼ inch above the boots. There was a small indentation at the waist, another quarter of an inch, suggesting an outline. Cheery's mouth fell open and she walked into the store with determination.

Thirty minutes later the dress was hers. She had persuaded the tailor to take down the scandalous hem, struggled with herself, and left the tiny waist alone. She shone with glory: red dress, smooth hair and beard, and the pretty nails.  
Finally, back at the Watch House, Sally and Angua congratulated Cheery.  
“You look great, girl. Now knock him un-dead. I mean dead.”  
“And if your hair gets too bushy after you W.A.S.H, you can borrow some of my Good Girl: Best in Show Detangler.”  
“This was wonderful. Maybe we can do it again next week!”  
They groaned. 

0000

Cheery wasn't having a good time. Grag Bashfullson had picked her up at her boarding house on Cheap Street, and they'd wandered over Misbegot bridge to Hide Park. There were little snackeries of several kinds, from rat sandwiches with particularly good crunchy bread, to beer and wine stands, and a cold creamy dessert that Bashfullson said was frozen yogi. Hide Park was a neutral zone, sought out by all species in Ankh-Morpork, and it was pleasant to hear the ranters and make fun of them. It should have been fun. She didn't know why it wasn't. This was only the third time she'd tried to date. Back home she'd gone out with Maltzberg Gravedigger, but after five dates, she'd learned that Maltzberg was also female. This was part of the reason she'd decided to wear skirts; she was flouting custom to avoid another embarrassment. Back at the yard when Cheery had first faced the watchmen with her new style, Hrolf Thighbiter had admired her, and there had been several visits to the Drum. But all he wanted to talk about was his fights and his clang. Then there was the oh-by-the-way-I'm-just-picking-up-my-drink touching of her hand.

Bashfullson said, “Looks like you're getting tired. Want to head back?”  
“Yes, I guess.”  
“You don't seem to enjoy the park. Is there someplace else you'd like to go?  
“No, thanks.”  
They were almost back to her boarding house when he said, “My Mojo is up the next block. Want to see it.”  
“Your Mojo?  
“That's where I learned those moves you saw me use on Ardent. It's a fighting sport from Agatea.”  
Intrigued, she followed him to a a large upstairs studio where white-smocked humans and dwarfs were wrestling each other in imaginative ways. Throwing an opponent over your hip seemed to be the starting point, then there were various jumping and slapping maneuvers. In one ring two dwarfs were practicing the same kind of pressure move that she had seen Bashfullson use.  
“Wow! This looks like a lot of fun! And I could use it when I'm patrolling, too.”  
“Want to try it?”  
“Um”—she looked at the beautiful dress. “Not today, I think.”  
“There are always extra smocks. Come on.”  
He showed her the first steps, balancing and weight distribution, but she remained unconvinced. These airy moves didn't look tough enough for the Watch. She told Bashfullson that while he was drawing back to do a leg kick, Ankh-Morpork's finest would be delivering the knee kick-inna-fork which usually served to dismay a criminal.  
Bashfullson grinned and said, “Try it.”  
Cherry was embarrassed. “I don't want to hurt you.”  
“You won't. Come on, girl.”  
The last comment was taunting and indecent and infuriated her.  
Without warning she lashed straight out at him, and he grabbed her leg and flipped her onto the mats. She tried knee kicks. He moved out of the way. She reached for her ax, realized she'd left it in the dressing room, and was laid flat out in the moment she hesitated. The last move had included a split second of hip contact as she sailed though the air. She lay there, surprised. Back home, any close contact such as that would have demanded a marriage contract, or at least a huge payment in ore.  
“Are you okay?” Bashfullson sat up, looking concerned.  
“No, I mean yes, everything is fine.” And it was. This was the most fun she had had in—she couldn't remember. He stood and then reached out a hand to help her get up, and she pulled his arm around his back and up between his shoulder blades. He tried another throw but she nearly dislocated his shoulder. He tapped out, and they faced each other again, grinning.

She was wearing, for lack of better clothes, a pair of trousers borrowed from the Mojo topped with a gi over her boots, and carrying her red leather dress in a bag. Her carefully moussed hair was now dripping and curly.  
Bashfullson had been quiet as they returned, looking at her frequently. She too didn't say anything, being too busy memorizing his Mojo moves.  
At her boarding house he bowed his head and said, “Good evening, Miss Cheery. I hope that you may enjoy our next meeting more.”  
“I don't see how,” she blurted. She turned to look at him directly. “I had a really great time.” She blushed a little. “So—next time we might not eat first, do you think?”


End file.
